Necromancer's Game
by Vivendus
Summary: A group of mismatched warriors, thieves, and mages fight a horrific evil, but is there a third player? Some horror and violence scenes. R&R, enjoy.
1. Events

Disclaimer: I don't own Morrowind or any characters or ideas from the Bethesda games. I have simply used ideas and places to create my own story. Some characters in this story have been completely made up and any resemblance to anyone in real life is bloody amazing as I didn't know there were orcs and elves out there. Ive also taken some liberties with the Tamriel world, so R&R and tell me what you think. Enjoy.  
  
CHPT 1: Events  
  
As blood slowly dripped down Kirathe's nose and landed in a pool of muddy water, the puddle turned a murky red. The gash over his left eye stung with sweat and dirt, but he was thankful his tormenter was full of matze and hardly able to focus. He hardly deserved the beating, but violence towards others was an easy way of making people feel better about themselves, albeit only temporarily.  
  
The Orc warrior who strode out of Arille's Tradehouse with his equally inebriated accomplice had been refused service, and who better to blame but the shivering pile of rags and its occupant trying to protect itself from the freezing winter rain. Kirathe had curled up under one of the tradehouses pathetic oil lanterns. He had assumed no one would bother a harmless beggar at such a late hour.  
  
The Orc had kicked Kirathe's dirty blanket, and his momentum had carried him over the top of the stunned elf to land in the mud at the bottom of a short flight of wooden stairs. Kirathe had begun to move away from the impending trouble, but the orc's friend had begun to laugh outrageously at his compatriot's misfortune and this in turn had embarrassed him. The fallen orc picked himself up out of the mud and had stumbled over and kicked Kirathe hard in his side as he tried to crawl away.  
  
"Little sack of maggots trip Birag!" the orc yelled as Kirathe picked himself off the wooden planks.  
  
"Your turn for mudbath, Rat!"  
  
The orc grabbed Kirathe's clothes and threw him backwards, down the stairs to land in the mud. The rain instantly soaked Kirathe to the skin and the mud squelched through his fingers as he lifted his head. Kirathe's tired eyes widened as he saw both orcs advancing on him. He tried to crawl away but his drunken assailants grabbed him and lifted him up.  
  
Kirathe wasn't sure which orc actually held him up while the other beat his stomach and face, but he remembered the searing pain as one orc had slashed his face with a dagger and then being dropped to the ground.  
  
Vaguely, Kirathe heard a loud bellow of pain and the two orcs arguing. The sound was muffled and he couldn't feel the rain any more. Kirathe focused on the drips of bright red falling off his face and disappearing into the murky brown of the mud puddle.  
  
*********  
  
Sarynia heard the fighting as she neared the town, it sounded like two drunks as the words were sometimes slurred and not many people would be out on a raining winter night but drunks and the poor.  
  
"...and mage guild evokers sent on ridiculous quests by snobby conjurers!" mumbled Sarynia. Sarynia had travelled on foot for three days from the growing Hlaalu town of Balmora. A newly appointed 'Conjurer' in the guild had seen fit to show off her new rank by ordering her to search for alchemy ingredients. These ingredients just happened to be native to the swampy conditions of the coastal town of Seyda Neen. In winter! While the weather workers had predicted storms! To top it all off now it seems she would have to defend herself from a couple of rowdy drunkards.  
  
As Sarynia trudged across the small bridge near the entrance to the small port town she readied her fear spell. Designed to frighten off opponents in the hope she would not have to actually fight. Never unprepared, Sarynia had a sharp dagger imbued with a paralyses charm, just to be on the safe side.  
  
Just in front of the tradehouse she saw two large orcs fighting. One had a cut on his hand, which seemed to be the focus of their argument. As she walked closer she gathered that one of the orcs, who was pointing a dagger at the others face, had accidentally cut his friend. She also spotted a young dark elf on his hands and knees in the mud, bleeding from a cut on his face. Sarynia quickly cast her fear spell as she correctly guessed the cause of the night's drama.  
  
The injured orc stopped arguing mid-sentence as he saw a shadowy figure emerge in the darkness behind his friend. His mouth fell open and he blanched as he felt the terrible waves of hate and pain emerging from this hellish creature. His friend stopped arguing and turned to the source of the awful feelings. They saw the creature walk slowly towards them. A dark figure, whose very presence rocked the earth and caused the moon to hide behind a shelter of clouds. Glowing red eyes burnt a warning into the orc's souls; this creature was worthy of fear and would deal out pain and anguish without thought and with terrible swiftness and ease.  
  
Its terrible voice ordered them to run.  
  
The orcs had never been so eager to carry out an order in their entire lives.  
  
*********  
  
Kirathe heard the argument stop suddenly, though he had never been sure of the content of the disagreement anyway. He saw a small pair of high-quality boots walk into his field of vision, just near his growing pool of blood. It was then that Kirathe heard a beautiful feminine voice.  
  
"Run." Was the simply command, and it seemed the orcs followed the order, though Kirathe was sure two orcs of that size would have been able to handle a solitary girl. Kirathe tried to shake his head in the hope it would clear it, but all he got was a blistering headache.  
  
He groaned.  
  
"It's alright. They've gone now. Can you hear me?" came the musical and beautiful voice.  
  
Kirathe tried to respond in the affirmative but couldn't force the words from his throat. Suddenly he felt a small hand on his cheek, and saw the face of a tiny Altmer woman looking at him with an expression of worry. Kirathe then saw her mouth move as if to speak and suddenly the world went dark.  
  
***********  
  
Bendar Rockhands was a fighter of good morals and of a background filled with glory and honour. Or at least he thought he once was at least. Bendar was currently ankle deep in rats and mud, in the lower depths of an old Dweower ruin, mimicking a pack mule for an irritating young bosmer thief who he thought was either very good at playing cards, or cheating.  
  
Bendar shifted his weight to better carry the dusty old artifacts that he had promised his new companion he would drag from the depths of this mine in order to help pay for the considerable debt that Bendar had accrued playing cards.  
  
It had started when Bendar had helped a family travelling the road to Pelagiad from an attacking pack of nix-hounds. Bendar was simply at the right place at the right time, for the family who's scrib jerky filled carts had attracted the pack looking for an easy meal. Bendar wished for no more than a thank you from the grateful family, but they had insisted he take a few coins and have lunch with them for saving their wagon, and possibly their lives. It seemed the cart was filled with a few months worth of income for the family and a friendly mercenary helping out of the goodness of his heart was a rare thing lately. Bendar and his new friends parted ways feeling the world was a better place with people such as that.  
  
Bendar's outlook of 'better people' was destroyed when that same night a young bosmer had approached him in a local bar while he was using the rescued families coins to buy his dinner and an ale. Through sweet words and free ale the young bosmer had convinced Bendar to play a friendly game of cards.  
  
The friendly game of cards suddenly had a friendly wager, which after several more ales had turned into a serious wager, which suddenly turned into Bendar losing not only all his money, but also his freewill. Bendar had apparently sold himself to slavery in a desperate attempt to win back his weapons and armour. The following morning he had awoken to a splitting migraine and a grinning bosmer with a signed contract.  
  
Bendar Rockhands, from generations of warriors and honourable mercs, who had fought and killed countless werewolves in the freezing snowlands of Solsthiem, had turned into a packmule.  
  
Bendar sighed as he watched his nimble companion jump from rock to rock, seemingly unable to get dirty or run out of energy. The bosmer had returned from another hidden alcove with some more Dweomer coins and bowls.  
  
"Here you go Bendar! More coins and stuff. We'll have that debt of yours payed off in no time!" the bosmer chirped merrily as he stacked the bowls in Bendar's arms and the coins in his backpack.  
  
"We've been in this mine for almost a fortnight Bosmer! I think my debt had been well and truly payed for. Release me from my contract, I'm carrying enough wealth on my back to keep you happy for years, if you're careful with your money."  
  
"I think not Bendar, you drank away a lot of my money the night we met, and your wagering continued even when you lost all those games straight. You were winning quite a bit at the start, you should have stopped then!"  
  
"You told me the drinks were free, for you were lonely and I never once asked for another. You Bosmer, probably cheated me in cards and got me drunk in order to become your blasted pack mule to carry all these illegal Dweomer artifacts!"  
  
"Such a temper you have Bendar, and I've told you my name is Zaareth, so call me it. No, I think you simply misunderstood me and are now trying to renege on our lawful agreement. Will you leave and break our contract, or do the honourable thing and stay until you've payed me back- which shouldn't be far off anyway?"  
  
"Stealing Dweomer artifacts is hardly honourable Bosmer; it's illegal, but I will honour your contract and stay, though I hate to be around you every second, at least you feed your 'packmules' the same good quality fare you eat at taverns."  
  
"What can I say, I'm a nice boss! So quit complaining. Anyway, I think that's all there is, I've picked this place clean. Let's drag this lot back to town and look at getting some food and rest. The closest place is Suran, and my favourite place in Suran has lovely women to look at while we eat. What do you say?"  
  
Bendar perked up at hearing food, rest and beautiful women, but firmly believed he was being cheated. Whilst angry and honourable, he was not stupid, and always tried to make the best of any bad situation.  
  
"Sounds like the best idea you've had all day Bosmer!"  
  
"Zaareth!" Countered the little elf.  
  
Soon the young thief and the tired Nord had left the mine and were making their way down a barely visible dirt path that would lead them to the highway, and take them to Suran. All the while the two bickered and fought and unbeknownst to the two companions an unlikely friendship was beginning to form.  
  
Also, unknown to the pair of tomb robbers, high in the trees above them waited a large raven. The raven stared silently at the pair with empty eye sockets and dried blood and gore where the eyes should have been and a large dry wound on its chest. The bird moved its stiff neck to better 'see' its target causing a maggot to fall out of the cavity in the bird's chest. Dry blood covered the black feathers and when its prey was out of sight a silent command was felt in the reanimated carcass.  
  
The undead creature was beginning to decompose too quickly. It spotted a large rat scurrying in the undergrowth beneath it. With magically enhanced strength the bird swooped down and pounced onto the rat, and ripped out its eyes. The rat choked out its dieing breath as blood loss took its toll. The raven then simply fell onto its side, empty of the magic that had just possessed it. The almost dead rat then suddenly stiffened and rose to its full height. Blood still leaked out of its eye sockets as it sniffed the air and quickly scurried in the direction of the highway.  
  
**********  
  
Navireth readied her arrow in perfect silence. The cloth-yard shaft was painted black, which matched the polished black wood and ebony battlebow she carried. Her weapons in turn matched her outfit as she blended seamlessly with shadows and dark corners with non-restrictive robes of black and boots polished dark and without shine.  
  
Navireth was an assassin, and she was good at it.  
  
In the manner of her guild she was given notice of her mark without knowing the reasons this persons death was necessary; such things made jobs complicated. Navireth didn't mind; she knew her guild would only take bounties for a lot of money, and petty feuds never warranted a strike from the guild of assassins.  
  
The target was a wealthy noble from the Redoran town of Ald-Ruhn; a female Altmer that used her masses of wealth along with her body to sway the outcome of court hearings, trade negotiations and the decisions of high ranking, lonely men. Rival house leaders had decided that the woman was simply too dangerous to be allowed to continue stealing their profits and halting their business'. The Altmer woman was immoral and cunning, egocentric and arrogant, ruthless and efficient. She was, however, using completely legal and legitimate business techniques, so outright murder would be traced and frowned upon.  
  
Navireth simply knew her name and an address. She had shadowed her target for five days. Navireth determined that the opportunity that would be most efficient would be a strike when the woman was returning home via a back road, in the early hours of the morning, from visiting a male merchant 'friend', whose wife was away at the time. Navireth had come to dislike this target that used her perfect body as a tool to sway the fat, rich and genuinely disgusting men of the city. She thought to provide a message to the other rich whores of the city. After her night with whatever rich merchant she was visiting at the time, she would be hurrying home wearing only her jewels, a dress and a cloak. An arrow through her throat would make for a painful and messy death. The lack of undergarments would be a funny and shocking sight to behold when the woman is stripped and robbed by the urchins and the poor before the city guards would find her stinking corpse in the morning.  
  
Navireth waited patiently sitting on the roof of a house nestled between the branches of a tree that completely covered the house. In her vantage position she had correctly guessed the route that the woman would return home. It was only a couple of hours before sunrise, already the netch and their young had retired for the day.  
  
The target walked unsteadily down the alleyway she had chosen. Navireth had spotted her long before she had moved to draw a bead on the woman. The woman hitched up her dress and tightened her cloak. Obviously slightly drunk from alcohol and a night of fornication, the woman stumbled towards the building where Navireth waited.  
  
Navireth took three deeper breathes then stopped her breathing. Timing so her arrow flew at that moment gave her complete accuracy and the arrow ripped a hole in the woman's throat as it propelled her backwards to land on the cobblestones.  
  
The woman writhed in agony spraying bright red blood from her neck wound. Unable to make any sounds save for a wet, gurgling the woman lasted only a few seconds before shock and blood loss took its toll and she died.  
  
Almost immediately a figure emerged from the darkness next to the body, and started to pilfer the corpse of anything useful. Navireth knew that the stalker was there, having already noticed before the kill. She had simply not cared, as the stalker would be grateful for the easy robbery and would try to get away as quick as possible anyway.  
  
Navireth silently placed the battlebow into a holster on her leg and vanished into the night.  
  
The figure robbing the fresh corpse of the noble woman was Pegorn; a dirty, homeless imperial nobody that preyed on the weak late at night; if there was no guards around. He pocketed the jewellery and money, and quickly scanned for anything else of value. Not bothering with the blood soaked dress or cloak, he found the arrow that killed the woman embedded deeply into the wood post of a house he was next to. A cloth-yard arrow was nothing special, but a black painted, blood stained arrow from the Morag- Tong might fetch a few coins from someone at the local bar.  
  
Morag –Tong assassin arrows were made with sharp barbs on the arrowhead and instantly identifiable. This, however, also made it impossible to retrieve from the wood post.  
  
Pegorn shrugged and turned away, he was met face to face by a figure in black from head to toe. No features could be seen in the dark hood even directly in front of Pegorn's face. The figure was a silent as a cat and seemed to be staring at Pegorn.  
  
"I – I didn't kill 'er!" Stammered Pegorn quickly, "I jus found 'er and..."  
  
The figure in black suddenly shoved a dark blue tinged short sword through Pegorn's stomach. The blade went in up to the hilt and Pegorn coughed out his last lung full of air as the figure then quickly snagged the jagged blade towards Pegorn's chest then quickly ripped it out of him.  
  
As Pegorn fell on the cobblestones next to the noble woman his last sight was that of the black figure calmly plucking the assassin's arrow out the wall, and his terrible short sword dripping blood on the ground, as the figure walked away.  
  
Then the world went dark.  
  
*********  
  
Luien Oskler came upon ownership of the Lucky Lockup in a game of cards. After a life of running guar hides between cities when the suppliers could not afford ships, he looked upon this as a favourable turn of events. Running guar hides is a long, boring, sometimes dangerous and always uncomfortable profession.  
  
Luien had been accosted by a small band of Dunmer raiders as he attempted to move his cart along a road by a small inlet. The Dunmer had seen the easy chance for some fun at his expense and proceeded to heckle Luien for 'passage tax' along the dirt track, which passed their temporary camp.  
  
Luien recognised a no-win situation and pretended to reach into his wagon for some gold. When he withdrew holding his rusty old crossbow with a loaded bolt, the Dunmer at once turned serious and attacked. Only a rival band of Dunmer raiders who had a grudge against the first band prevented Luien from losing his life. As the band attacked so did the rival group, taking the opportunity to surprise their enemies and kill them.  
  
After it was over the leader of the second band informed Luien that they will let him live, and in return Luien would tell no one of the bloodshed that occurred there that day. Luien was granted a second relief as the leader told him that they would be taking his cart, but they would let him keep anything he finds on the stinking corpses of their former adversaries.  
  
Amongst the carnage Luien found a backpack with food and placed the gold and jewellery he found in it as well. He cleaned off and pocketed any daggers. Adorned the chitin armour and collected as many swords or other sellable items he could carry.  
  
When he sold the weapons and armour in Balmora, Luien had enough wealth for a week's bed and breakfast in the Lucky Lockup, with enough left over for drinks and gambling.  
  
Luien gambled with soldiers and common folk, and during a game involving the owner of the establishment, a fight had broken out where the owner was killed. A high ranking member of the town guards had decreed that the owners property be forfeit to house Hlaalu, and the murderer be taken away for trial. Luien asked the guard what he was to do about his winnings owed by the former owner. The guard had responded by offering the establishment to Luien and in return he would submit to being a vassal of house Hlaalu, and would give ten percent of all takings to the house.  
  
Luien gladly accepted.  
  
During the past few weeks' business had been good. Guar and netch hunting had been profitable, and many traders spent their stopovers in Balmora and always spent up big as the first of the profits came rolling in. Luien had amassed a fair bit of wealth with the takings from the Lucky Lockup. He had hired some Hlaalu guards to keep the peace and many commerce transactions were filed away making it an easy transition for Luien to take over.  
  
Hlaalu guards frequented the pub, which now had grown to include a fine kitchen and ample bedding upstairs. The pub was considered a good place to eat and get drunk without having to worry about fights or too many pickpockets.  
  
On particularly slow mornings Luien had time to mingle with his patrons and build on his reputation for being a nice, fair and approachable member of the Balmora community. On this morning Luien spied a small Bosmer lad eating and drinking with a sullen looking Nord. Obviously treasure hunters, the two had a few full sacks under the table in the corner. The huge Nord was probably the one who got to do all the heavy lifting, Luien thought, while his smaller companion would manage to squeeze into tight places, or perhaps even pick locks; A useful combination.  
  
"Hello lads, hows the hunting been?" said Luien amicably as he approached the pair and gestured towards the third stool at their table.  
  
The Nord remained stoic whilst the Bosmer's eyes lit up. A sad expression crossed the young Bosmer's face however, as he indicated that Luien's company would be welcome.  
  
"Ah, not too good I'm afraid, friend barkeep." Said the Dunmer, "I'm afraid that the rare and valuable goods are found deep in Dweomer strongholds, and its illegal to break into those. All we managed to find was some very rare Dweomer crockery in some shipwrecks... why don't you take a look at this finery; quite rare and reasonably priced y'know, friend!"  
  
Luien smiled as the Bosmer opened a bag of Dweomer artefacts and showed him.  
  
"What do you think, friend Redguard?"  
  
"Well, since you got these from shipwrecks, which is quite legal, I might be persuaded to take some off your hands." Said Luien with a sly wink.  
  
The Bosmer grinned and winked back.  
  
"Ill take what you have in this bag, minus that dead rat for 4 nights free bed and breakfast, plus one bottle of my finest wine."  
  
"Make it 5 nights and 2 bottles and we have a deal friend."  
  
"How about 4 nights and one bottle and I tell the group of Hlaalu guards that just walked in that you're old friends of mine and definitely took these only from shipwrecks."  
  
The Bosmer looked behind the barman as the group of guards came in and sat down, taking off their helmets and shouting for drinks, "Ho! Luien! Dark ale for the four of us, and tell your friend we will be checking their bags for anything stolen or suspicious!"  
  
"Settle your group of idiot friends down Marluth or I'll have a drink in front of them and they can wait! Oh, and this is my friends from down south Marluth, and good customers, I wont have you interrogating friends. I'll go get your drinks!"  
  
"Fair enough Luien. Well make it the good stuff!"  
  
Luien turned to face the Bosmer and the Nord while the group of guards laughed at some joke and started to relax.  
  
Luien looked the young Bosmer in the eyes, "4 nights and a bottle or did I mistake you for friends?"  
  
The Bosmer quickly glanced at the guards then back to the barman, then suddenly split into a grin and reached to shake his hand, "Pleasure doing business with you friend, the names Zaareth and this is Bendar!"  
  
"The names Luien, Zaareth, let me take those off your hands and get you that bottle."  
  
Luien picked up the bag of illegal artefacts and placed them behind the bar. Just as he retrieved a bottle of cheap wine to give to his new 'friends' the front door opened and in walked a cloaked figure supporting another figure dressed in equally obscuring clothing.  
  
Luien dropped the bottle and two goblets on Zaareth's table, returned and grabbed four big tin goblets of dark ale and gave them to the guards. "Here Marluth, these ones are on me if you leave my friends alone this time, eh? I'll warn them about smuggling and ask them if they've seen anything, eh?"  
  
The guard nodded and took a drink out of his goblet, "Very well Luien, anything for a friend, just remember we will check next time they're in."  
  
"Very good gentlemen, enjoy your drinks. If you'll excuse me?"  
  
As Luien passed the table with the two treasure hunters, he saw the Bosmer fill up the goblet of his Nord friend. After the Nord reached to get his drink and taken a swig to quench his thirst, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at his smaller friend.  
  
"Well Bosmer, the girls in Suran may be nice, but the wine is better here in Balmora"  
  
The young Bosmer raised an eyebrow and looked at his huge friend, "...but not as good as that Mead stuff you always go on about hey my friend?"  
  
The Nord looked wistfully at the ceiling and barked a small laugh, "Not even close, Bosmer! Someday ill share a cask with you if we ever return to my homeland!"  
  
Luien would have stopped to mention he had a small supply of Mead under the bar, shipped directly from a contact at Thirsk on Solsthiem, but his tavern's latest arrivals were a more pressing concern.  
  
Luien hurried back to the bar and confronted the hooded figures, "Sarynia, is that you?"  
  
The figure that was being suppported pushed back her hood and smiled, "Yes Luien, it's me, give us some water will you?"  
  
"Who do you have there? Are you ok? What happened to make you need help walking?"  
  
"My name is Kirathe, and Sarynia just twisted her ankle on your blasted cobbles out the front." Said the other figure, "After 3 days of walking here the first trouble we have is on the doorstep of the first pub we go to!"  
  
"Sarynia! Your little feet are the only ones to ever trip on that doorstep; you must watchout. Let me get that water and maybe something for you to eat. Are you hungry?"  
  
"Famished!" responded Sarynia.  
  
"So where did you two meet? In the guild?" asked Luien.  
  
"No, she saved me from being cut to death by some Orcs, then probably again from bleeding to death, I'm just trying to help any way I can."  
  
"Actually, when I stopped him from bleeding everywhere I discovered something the guild might find interesting. We've come back to see them." Sarynia looked around. Just then a few more people entered the building and sat down at a table. They produced a pack of playing cards and proceeded to make themselves at home.  
  
"Well it's getting busier today Lui!" calling Luien by her personal nickname. The two had been friends for many months; Luien being there whenever Sarynia needed to talk about problems in the guild, and Sarynia because it suited Luien to have as many friends as possible, especially attractive ones.  
  
A man then opened the door and let a woman enter before him. Both were plain dressed but walked with a calm grace. The clothing they wore was quite common and of dark shade pants with white tops. The man had a good quality dai-katana strapped to his side, while the woman had an extraordinary ebony battlebow strapped to her side. Her quiver on her back was covered with an old cloth concealing any arrows she might be carrying.  
  
Luien put a bottle of spring water on the counter and some fruit, anticipating Sarynia's favourites. "Looks like a couple I might have to keep an eye on." Luien said referring to the pair that just walked in.  
  
Sarynia and Kirathe both turned to watch the pair who had just taken up seats near the entrance. The man noticed the attention and smiled confidently at Sarynia. The woman was staring at the guards on the table at the centre of the room. Sarynia turned and picked up her glass of water that Kirathe had poured and drank the contents, "They seem fine to me Lui, just relax!"  
  
Just then an explosion shook the earth, spilling drinks and smashing glasses. The sound was deafening and the bar patrons were thrown to the ground. It had evidently originated from just outside the bar as dust and rocks had been thrown inside the front door. Small boulders and stones fell through the door and soon after the hulking form of a dead silt strider crashed just outside, taking part of the front wall with it.  
  
Kirathe had managed to keep his wits about him during the explosion. Although the room was thick with dust, Kirathe could see the dead silt strider lying atop what remained of the Lucky Lockup's front wall. Just behind were the remains of the city wall and debris from signs, urns, baskets and even unlucky people. Everything else beyond that was obscured from sight by smoke from fire that had begun to burn.  
  
Patrons of the bar started to lift themselves up and check for injuries. The armed couples sitting by the front door had surprisingly enough jumped out of the way, and were now standing at the bar with Sarynia, Kirathe and Luien.  
  
The Bosmer and the huge Nord were standing at their table. The Bosmer was doubled over coughing while the Nord stood with a stunned expression. His hand was on his temple and a thin stream of blood trickled down his face.  
  
The town guards had been thrown from their table, which now was lying on the ground broken and covered with large stones.  
  
Marluth, the Captain of the guards that had come in to drink, was now lying face down on the ground. His clothes and armour were scorched black and his right arm was crushed beneath a large boulder. Blood poured from several wounds, but it was obvious that he was dead.  
  
Next to him sat another guard. This one was impaled through the chest with a large piece of wood. His face was pale and his expression was of horror and fear as he looked at the large object in his body. His breathing turned from rapid to slow. Finally he looked up at the smoking hole in the wall, closed his eyes, and died.  
  
The other two guards were slowly gaining consciousness. One tried to clear his head by shaking it while the other rushed to his fallen friends.  
  
Through the smoke and rubble a figure appeared. It was dressed from head to toe in red and black daedric armour. The facial mask grinned a wicked smile of metal teeth as the figure surveyed the damage atop his vantage spot of debris and ruin.  
  
All who remained in the demolished pub watched this figure in silence. Behind him came some smaller creatures, adorned in roughly spun robes and cowls of black.  
  
The figure in the magnificent and terrifying armour lifted his arm and pointed at Kirathe, "Kill the others but leave that one alive!" came the coarse and horrible voice.  
  
Immediately, all four cloaked figures revealed jagged daggers and jumped towards the survivors.  
  
********** 


	2. Corruption

Disclaimer: I don't own Morrowind or any characters or ideas from the Bethesda games. I have simply used ideas and places to create my own story. Some characters in this story have been completely made up and any resemblance to anyone in real life is bloody amazing as I didn't know there were orcs and elves out there. Ive also taken some liberties with the Tamriel world, so R&R and tell me what you think. Enjoy.  
  
Keep the reviews coming. Thanks to Volendrung & Creeper for your help and ideas.  
  
CHPT 2: Corruption  
  
Kirathe instinctively ducked as he heard the loud 'whoosh' of a large object flying through the air above his head. Luien had thrown the large glass pitcher of water at the oncoming intruders. It served little but to temporarily slow the attackers as one cloaked figure simply batted it away with his arm. The pitcher smashed spilling water over the assailant but the glass did no damage.  
  
Sarynia took this pause to hastily cast her fear spell. In that instant the figure in the daedric armour had lifted his arm and began to mutter.  
  
Sarynia cried out as she was suddenly propelled backwards through the air by an unseen force. The leader had somehow used Sarynia's energy to counter her spell and turn it into a physical attack. The young mage crashed into the shelves behind the bar, sending liquid and smashed pottery over the floor. She landed in a heap on the ground; covered in drink, bleeding and unconscious.  
  
Instantly, one of the advancing figures was propelled quickly off its feet and thrown sideways by a large black arrow in the neck. The figure running at his side abruptly came to a halt and looked at his fallen friend. He turned his cowled head in the direction from where the arrow came.  
  
The assailant saw a woman near the wall, reaching back into her quiver to load another black arrow into her ebony battlebow. It was then that the man wielding the dai-katana cleaved the figure's head from his shoulders.  
  
The other two figures in black had advanced on the stunned town guards. A flurry of quick movements saw the pair quickly dispatch the guards. Slashes to throats and other major arteries had thrown blood over the floor and nearby furniture. The two cloaked attackers spied their fallen comrades near the bar and rushed to dispatch the man and woman responsible for killing them.  
  
One figure closed upon the man with the dai-katana. The man readied to swing, knowing that the smaller twin daggers the figure carried would be more effective at close fighting.  
  
The other dark figure advanced upon the woman with the battlebow. She had readied her next arrow and lined up the throat of her adversary. As she let fly, the figure somehow managed to swat the arrow with his dagger mid- flight. In doing so he had deflected the arrow harmlessly away, momentarily saving himself, but had lost his only dagger in the process.  
  
He jumped towards the woman with arms outstretched, ready to strangle her.  
  
A furious combination of slashes and thrusts from the dai-katana managed to keep the assailant a long-swords length from the swordsman. The robed figure deftly parried with his daggers, deflecting the deadly longsword at every stroke. Quickly his opponent tired; the sword strokes becoming slower and his stance lower.  
  
One over stretched thrust from the dai-katana saw the attacker jump in close, batting the sword away with one dagger, and pushing the other dagger into the man's breast all the way to the hilt.  
  
The dai-katana fell from the man's hand. He slumped to the ground and blood poured from his mouth as his lungs filled.  
  
The attacker turned to find his next victim. A large two-bladed war-axe flew across the room. Spinning end over end, the war-axe took the attacker in the chest, splitting his ribcage. Momentum carried the man and weapon into the wall several feet behind him.  
  
At that instance the small Bosmer drew a garrotte wire and jumped on the last black-cloaked figure. The figure had engaged the woman hand to hand, her weapon of choice proving useless in close quarter combat. The sheer size and strength of the attacker overwhelmed the woman, choking her.  
  
The surprise attack worked. The cloaked figure released the woman. She sat and coughed; swallowing precious air as the small Bosmer cut his deadly wire into the attackers soft throat.  
  
In a moment the large cloaked figure slumped to the ground dead, his face purple and blood pouring from his snared throat.  
  
All this time, Kirathe had been unable to take his eyes from the figure in daedric armour. They had locked gaze when the fighting began, and Kirathe's mind was reeling from the piercing stare.  
  
When the fighting had stopped and everyone in the room had taken account of their surroundings, the figure in armour finally released Kirathe from his stare and looked around.  
  
Blood covered walls, floors, tables and people. The smell of fresh killing hung heavy in the room as people gasped for breath and waited expectantly at what the figure would do next.  
  
Daedric runes painted on the armour glowed as the figure advanced slowly upon Kirathe. He trudged slowly and quietly down the rubble and onto the wooden floor. At least seven feet tall, the figure stopped several feet away from Kirathe as the ensemble of survivors readied weapons.  
  
The terrible mask scanned the crowd slowly, it's gaze piercing into each person. When finally it looked once more upon Kirathe, the figure began to laugh a deep, slow, and whispering laugh. Its quiet voice seemed to shake the room as it spoke one word, "Soon."  
  
The figure then vanished in a cloud of miasmic, putrid smoke.  
  
**********  
  
Work on fixing the sidewall of the Lucky Lockup was taking a long time. Between the chaos caused by an attack on the city and looters raiding the decimated pub at night, an impromptu curfew was enforced upon the city. Guards were strengthened at entrances to the city and on patrol, and even the Fighters Guild was hired by the Hlaalu House to ensure that a lawful peace was maintained.  
  
The Mages guild was at the forefront of investigations, having detected that the initial explosion was of arcane origins.  
  
Inside the Mages Guild all the survivors from the pub were being held for questioning by both Guild members and the Hlaalu council elite.  
  
Sarynia had regained consciousness three days after the attack. She was gaunt and pale from malnutrition and was attended at every moment by acolytes, and by an ever present and extremely worried Kirathe.  
  
After the daedric-clad figure had vanished Kirathe had felt a sense of shame and anger. He attributed his feelings to having not been able to protect Sarynia, and return the favour that she had given him, when they had first met in Seyda Neen.  
  
To his surprise and horror, Kirathe also discovered felt a sense of loss and sadness once the evil figure had gone. These feeling were kept buried inside, assuming the confusion of the moment had played with his senses.  
  
He looked around the guildhall. In Balmora, the Mages Guild looked to be a small building with an equally small second story. Entering the building a set of stairs led underground to a much larger room sectioned off into various areas. A pedestal and series of benches were sectioned off making an area used for classes, or lore reading. There was a section of enclosed Bunk beds in the opposite corner. In the other corners were bookshelves, tables and chairs and pillows for quiet relaxing and contemplation.  
  
A separate room adjoined the underground area and contained a small alchemy lab and a stone transportation stage, for use when travelling between guild across Morrowind.  
  
It was from this room an aged Kharjiit woman entered, carrying a number of small vials on a tray and heading for a large table. Once her tray was safely on the table she turned to a Hlaalu guard who was busy writing on a parchment in the centre of the room.  
  
"Ahhhhrrrgh Serraghh!" She purred, "Here is morrre of my ressstore health potionsss"  
  
"Our thanks to you Karijaa, I'll distribute these to those in need. I think rest will suffice for most now that your magic has prevented many fatalities."  
  
The elderly Khajiit bowed and sauntered off, slow, but eager to help anyone she may.  
  
In the section of the building dominated by rows of chairs facing a pedestal, members of the guild were in conference with the survivors of the Lucky Lockup. Presiding over the meeting was a stern young Hlaalu house member. Wearing a green robe and fine boots, he was busy writing down notes from those gathered.  
  
He stopped writing a moment and addressed the crowd.  
  
"Ok, that seems to cover just about everything. I'm sorry to say the curfew wont be lifted for a while, and I'm going to have to ask you to stay in Balmora for a few more days at least - just until we get this mess sorted."  
  
A few groans and sighs emerged from the small crowd but everyone remained silent until the house member gathered up his parchments and writing tools, nodded respectfully to the assembly and departed.  
  
Bendar turned and looked at the gathered survivors.  
  
"Well, I s'pose now's as good as time as any to get something to eat?" he addressed no one in particular.  
  
Kirathe looked up from where he was holding Sarynia. He was very reluctant to leave her, but as she seemed to enjoy his comfort and closeness, he didn't think it was a problem.  
  
"That's a good idea." Looking back down at Sarynia's pale face he added, "You should definitely do anything to get your strength up."  
  
Sarynia smiled and looked up. Then slowly sat up straight, disentangling herself from Kirathe's arm.  
  
"I'm stronger than I look" she said stretching.  
  
"That we all realise Sarynia." Said Luien from a nearby chair. "I don't reckon I could have got back up from being thrown across the room!"  
  
"Well, I got lucky"  
  
"I think we all did" answered Zaareth. The small thief said looking bored. "I lost all my money and the stuff Bendar and I found on those shipwrecks." "Oh, you poor thing!" hissed the mysterious woman who fought in the bar with them. Since the ordeal, they had been 'asked' to stay inside the Balmora mages guild, but guards had blocked the exits and whenever it was obvious someone was trying to leave, had quickly stood fast and asked for identification papers.  
  
She quickly stood up and left the seated area. On the way out she gave the young Bosmer thief an icy stare. During the questioning Navireth had volunteered very little information, stating unless she was convicted of a crime they had no rights to question her presence.  
  
Navireth walked up to the nearest guard and tapped him roughly on his shoulder.  
  
The guard flinched and turned to look at the woman. Upon seeing whom it was he rolled his eyes and stood up straight to give her his full attention, "What is it you want now?"  
  
"My weapons!"  
  
"Fine." The guard snapped his fingers and a lesser ranking guard immediately jumped to serve.  
  
"Get this woman her weapons..." he looked at Navireth to fill in his lack of knowledge about which weapon was hers.  
  
"My battlebow and quiver and the dai-katana"  
  
"Both yours?"  
  
"No, the sword is my dead-partner, and since he has a ten inch blade inside his chest I didn't think he'd mind if I took his possessions." She said icily.  
  
"Well, I think I'll have to find out whether you can do that or not. I'll just..."  
  
"While you're there, get his other possessions. I'm sure the Morag Tong would appreciate having its property returned!"  
  
At this the guard jumped and anybody that was nearby turned to see who spoke the name of the infamous guild of assassins.  
  
Navireth crossed her arms and glared. The guard swallowed and nodded at the younger guard, who ran off to fetch the items.  
  
Navireth then bowed her head. She managed to keep her identity as a member of the assassins' guild a secret for days, ignoring questions, and making people uncomfortable with harsh stares. The stress of the loss of her partner, and three days of waiting had finally gotten to her though, and the loud admission was a result. She massaged her forehead with her hand and clenched her eyes.  
  
Her eyes were stinging and she was getting flushed. She would not, however, allow these people to see her cry. Before the guard returned with her weapons she turned and walked away, hoping to find a secluded area of Balmora to let these feelings pass.  
  
She could return for the weapons later. Right now she needed to mourn her little brother.  
  
--------------------  
  
The entire room had seen the exchange, yet it was Luien that spoke what they were all feeling,  
  
"An assassin! Good grief, she was drinking in my pub!"  
  
"Don't be naive friend Luien, assassin is a legitimate job, even if they are disliked. You've probably had hundreds drink at your pub." Laughed the big Nord.  
  
Luien nodded as he thought about it, then looked at the tall Nord.  
  
"You think that other assassin was someone special?"  
  
"Like a lover?" chimed in Sarynia.  
  
"Possibly." Agreed Luien, "I wasn't the only one to see her nearly burst into tears then I take it?"  
  
"No, I saw it too, she called him a partner." Said Kirathe, "...and you were worried about your gold!" Kirathe said pointedly, looking directly at Zaareth.  
  
The young Bosmer had the good grace to look ashamed.  
  
Talk turned to the fight; the group had gone over every detail they could remember. The bodies of those killed had been kept under guard by the city, but an investigating Hlaalu lord had removed one of the jagged short blades and it now sat on a small table near the group.  
  
Once more Kirathe felt Sarynia's hand take hold of his. He looked down at her face, and suddenly became very aware of her presence. Sarynia had taken an almost childlike attitude. Kirathe realised that the events of the past week could affect someone, but the more Sarynia needed his closeness, the more he disliked it.  
  
Sarynia was far from unattractive, but she was not Dunmer, and even though Kirathe owed her a lot, and wanted to protect her, he didn't think it was necessary to give her the attention she so obviously wanted.  
  
Kirathe released her hand and stood up. With no other valid excuse presenting itself he walked towards the small table, seemingly intent on examining the short blade.  
  
A few of those assembled watched him take up the blade and closely examine it, but others had done this before him, so no one thought it strange. Everyone went back to their discussions.  
  
No one noticed that Kirathe had begun to sweat and his grip on the sword was causing his knuckles to turn white.  
  
He had lifted up the blade and immediately the room around him had filled with a white fog. All sounds had dulled, as though he was listening underwater, and soon the only thing Kirathe could see was the blade.  
  
The blade began to get cold; burning his hand, but he found he could not move let alone release the blade. His grip became tighter and he heard a faint whispering; almost a mocking laughter. He felt rather than heard his name being called; it was like an internal tugging.  
  
The room became warmer and Kirathe began to relax. The blade was still painfully cold, but Kirathe found it felt comfortable. He sensed that the blade was missing something, suddenly a body materialised in front of him.  
  
The body was that of a young Imperial girl, maybe ten years old. She was naked, bound and gagged and seemed to be resting on a stone altar. She fixed Kirathe with a look of drug induced calm while Kirathe found his arm lifting and turning the ice cold blade so the point faced down.  
  
The blade then slowly moved towards the girl's naked stomach. Unable to do anything but watch, Kirathe saw the blade pierce her flesh and push deep inside her body. The girl spasmed as blood leaked out around the blade, yet she still smiled.  
  
The short sword then began a rhythmic sawing as Kirathe started to disembowel the young sacrifice.  
  
Blood poured down the sides of the stone slab to fall at Kirathe's feet. It covered the blade entirely and also his arm up to the shoulder. Suddenly Kirathe realised the blade was no longer cold, but a soothing warm. He knew it was the girl's blood feeding the heat into the blade, and Kirathe somehow knew it felt right.  
  
He smiled when the light in the girl's eyes finally went out. Blood spewed from her mouth as she quietly smiled at her killer.  
  
The Balmora mages guild then suddenly returned and Kirathe was standing holding the sword.  
  
He dropped the blade, which crashed loudly on the ground. A number of people jumped at the noise and the assembled group quickly turned, startled at the unexpected movement.  
  
Bendar the Nord and Luien came to their feet as Kirathe fell backwards and crawled away from the short sword. Unable to take his eyes from the blade, Kirathe turned white as he remembered the details of the horrific vision. Worst, he remembered his feeling of joy and contentment as he ended the life of the young girl. Kirathe rolled over onto his hands and knees and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor.  
  
At the time, the assembled groups were on their feet, some with looks of astonishment, some with confusion. A couple of guild members had ventured over to see the commotion and disgust was written on a few faces.  
  
"What's wrong lad?!" said Bendar loudly. He moved over cautiously and touched Kirathe on the shoulder.  
  
Kirathe knocked his hand off without looking as he sat on his knees, spitting to clear his mouth.  
  
"Leave me be!"  
  
The group looked to one another for some clue as to what they had witnessed.  
  
A small and very elderly Altmer man hobbled into the circle. He looked at the shivering Kirathe for a moment before speaking.  
  
"He's tainted."  
  
The group looked at the small man. Sarynia gasped as she recognised the speaker and came to her feet, "Grandmaster?" she inquired.  
  
The old man's eyes never left Kirathe. He ignored the rest of the people but shook his head slightly, "Did you enjoy it?" he asked Kirathe sadly.  
  
Kirathe's shivering paused for a few moments. Everyone watched him slowly turn his head in the direction of the Grandmaster of the Mages Guild.  
  
"Yes" he hissed quietly.  
  
Not a few in the room gasped in shock. Kirathe had begun to cry, but the tears that were falling were of dark blood.  
  
"Get him to his feet!" the old man ordered.  
  
Kirathe groaned as Bendar and Zaareth each grabbed one of his armed and gently, but forcefully pulled him up to stand on his feet. The Nord and the Bosmer remained at his sides, making sure he didn't fall. Each looked equally worried at what was happening.  
  
Sarynia's hand came to her cheek as she saw the dark stains on Kirathe where the blood had trickled down his face. The blood seemed to have stopped flowing, yet he still seemed weak enough to need support from the Nord and the Bosmer.  
  
One of the first things Sarynia had noticed when she saved Kirathe from the drunken Orc in Seyda Neen was that he had some dark black marks on the back of his neck. The mark was difficult to see in most lights because Kirathe's skin was the dark blue-grey native to Dunmer. Sometimes however, this mark was instantly recognisable as a series of runes, looking as much a tattoo as anything else.  
  
Sarynia had asked Kirathe about the runes on their journey to Balmora. Kirathe had remarked that he had them as long as he remembered, but he didn't put them there. He didn't know what the runes were, but didn't mind them.  
  
"Turn him around," said the Grandmaster.  
  
The two friends shuffled Kirathe around until he was facing in the opposite direction of the old man. The Grandmaster sighed, and his lips became taught. Sarynia had mentioned in passing to a college that the initial reason for her bringing him to the guild was to investigate the runes. Somehow the Grandmaster of the Mages Guild had found out, and came to investigate personally.  
  
The reason was abundantly clear.  
  
Kirathe's runes were moving in his skin, changing into different patterns. 


	3. Decision

Wow, thanks for the reviews (Lady Anneke, did you bring me a pressie from Disney World?) Im afraid I tend to get carried away when im writing, plus I need to include certain points before moving on- this accounts for my long chapters. Ill try to shorten them a bit. Im sorry if anyone getting confused with names, but in my view it adds to the realism (you should see the names of my chars from my save games!) Thanks for reading. ~V~  
  
CHPT 3: Decisions  
  
Navireth looked at the stars overhead. The positions of the two moons had left the dusk sky a rainbow of dark blues and fading beautiful reds. The stars shone through brightly, masked occasionally by a small cloud. A tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
Upon leaving the mages guild Navireth had nimbly climbed atop an adjacent building using a small stack of crates and urns at the rear of the building. She now lay on her back with her legs tucked to the side and her arms wrapped loosely around her stomach.  
  
She had decided that this Clothier's shop had a sufficiently high enough roof that she could lie on the top and stargaze without fear of anyone seeing her.  
  
A shooting star streaked the sky above her, but Navireth didn't see it. She was thinking of her dead brother.  
  
As children, Navireth and her younger brother Raulgh had always been close. Losing their parents in a pirate raid when they were young had forced them both to grow up quickly and depend on each other.  
  
The pirates had landed off the coast of Hla Oad in the very early hours of a cold winter morning. Coming ashore in small ten-man boats the raiding party had decimated the small fishing village in the hopes of stealing enough food and supplies for another long stretch at sea.  
  
A day of torture, rape and murder had followed. The pirates deciding to entertain themselves since overpowering what little resistance the village offered.  
  
Navireth and her brother had hidden in swamps and tall grasses until they could safely make a break for the River Odai and follow it until they found a safe haven.  
  
They knew the river ran through the city of Balmora and headed in that direction, but three days later, just before they reached the city, a diseased rat had bitten Navireth. She quickly became ill, Raulgh having to support her as she deteriorated. As they neared the city they saw a middle aged man fishing by the side of the river. Calling out for help, the man simply stared at them until they neared him.  
  
Raulgh lost his temper and yelled obscenities, demanding why he made them walk all the way to him when it was obvious his sister was near death.  
  
The man had stood and slowly unsheathed a small knife from around his waist and advanced on them. Eyes wide, Raulgh warned him away.  
  
The man stopped and studied the pair.  
  
"Your bravery is commendable, your intelligence is lacking. She's diseased am I right?"  
  
Raulgh nodded slowly while a pale Navireth simply clung to him, now lost in a fever.  
  
"Well, lets bleed that infected wound on her leg, try and save her life, then we'll look at some repayment, eh?"  
  
The man turned out to be a high-ranking member of the Morag Tong. After bleeding the wound, which had become seriously infected, he had helped the two children to his home in Balmora. With the help of some potions, food and rest Navireth made a full recovery. After tending the needs of the man's house for a few months as payment the man enlisted them into the guild of assassins.  
  
They were raised as children of the Morag Tong and advanced quickly.  
  
Navireth sighed.  
  
She was usually very good at hiding all emotions from everyone - except Raulgh. The outburst in the mages guild annoyed her.  
  
Navireth rolled over onto her side. Her left arm bent and supported her head while her right hand sightly tapped her hip. From her vantage point she could see the southern archway to Balmora and slightly to the left, the charred wall of the Lucky Lockup.  
  
Navireth scowled and sat up. Her icy stare focused on the blackened remains of the buildings' wall. Memories returned.  
  
Instead of the painful feelings of loss and anguish as she remembered her dying brothers face, there was a hot lump in her chest. Her fire burned. She wanted revenge.  
  
How dare these people attack members of the Morag Tong? How dare they kill her brother? How dare this figure in daedric armour still breathe?  
  
When Navireth jumped down from the building roof and started walking towards the mages guild there was no sign that she had been upset and crying. A cold fury had possessed her. Navireth's icy silver eyes stared ahead while her teeth silently ground together. She would enjoy ripping the living entrails of her brother's killer out with her bare hands. She would enjoy watching him slowly die.  
  
This figure in armour had seemed to recognise the pathetic dunmer male from the pub fight. She would question him about this daedric-clad murderer and track him down. She needed to find this figure and the weak scum hiding in the mages guild was her best shot. Navireth reflected that sometimes it was necessary to gather information from people she disliked. She would ignore any questions about the guild. Perhaps the fighters among them have decided to hunt this guy down? If so, she vowed she would tag along as much as necessary and ensure she gave the killing blow.  
  
As she reached the entrance to the guild, Navireth felt as though she was being watched.  
  
She looked over her shoulder at the shadows around the village. She looked at the roofs of the nearby buildings, and still did not see anything. Grunting, she turned to open the door. As she did she spied a nix-hound pup watching her from near the village pawnshop. She turned to face the small creature that simply stared at her from the shadows. When the pup didn't move Navireth remembered her bad mood and roughly shoved the door open and entered.  
  
When the door of the mages guild slammed shut the small nix-hound puppy walked out of the shadows and towards Balmora South Gate. It left a trail of bloody footprints as it went, occasionally a piece of itself would fall off as its dead body decomposed. Once it reached the gate it stopped and waited. Another creature would come buy soon. One always does. It knew a lot of creatures are attracted to the smell of rotten meat.  
  
--------------  
  
Halun was an Argonian commoner with a passion for night fishing. Quite regularly, Halun could be seen walking around Balmora at night with a brace of the nocturnal marine life he sold to make a living.  
  
He hummed a nameless tune as he returned from downriver, his night's work complete, having caught enough small fish to feed himself and enough left over to sell tomorrow. As he neared town, he spied a nix-hound puppy and froze.  
  
Halun was afraid of rats, let alone nix-hounds. This one was very small however and simply staring at him from the shadows. Slowly his fear lessoned and Halun walked forwards cautiously. Maybe this one was lost, hungry or hurt?  
  
"Here puppy, you feel well?' Halun rasped in his version of a whisper.  
  
"Maybe puppy hungry? Halun have spare fish." Halun crouched low and waved a small fish towards the puppy. The small pup hobbled slowly towards the offered food.  
  
Just as the pup was close enough to take the fish from Halun's hand the moon came out from behind some clouds. Halun recoiled instantly, dropping his fish and landing on his rear end. The pup however ignored the fish that had fallen on the ground and continued towards Halun.  
  
Halun was paralysed with fear. The pup was obviously dead. Its lower jaw was missing and he could clearly see ribs protruding from the side of the small animal. Holes riddled its body and Halun could now smell the decay.  
  
At once the puppy collapsed when it had reached Halun's knees. Halun suddenly felt as if he was choking and was gripped by excruciating pain over his entire body. He rolled onto his knees and coughed up bright red blood. The pain reached a crescendo and Halun fell to the dirt. Halun the Argonian then died.  
  
As the moon once more ventured behind some clouds and covered the world in shadows, Halun's body began to rise.  
  
It gathered itself to its feet and lifted its head. Blood still dripped from its mouth as it shuffled towards Balmora. In time the movements smoothened out as whatever magic possessed the body seemed to take better control.  
  
The next morning two guards would wonder why just outside of town there was a brace of fish lying next a fishing pole, a rotting nix-hound and a pile of blood. The Argonian shaped bloody footprints leading to the town entrance only added to their confusion.  
  
---------------------------  
  
~Author's note~  
  
Thank you for any reviews you have submitted, however, Mage-Imperator, if you ask to become a co-author after directly telling me "How dare you..." what do you think your chances are? Presently at work (Air Force)I have a new class of students arriving soon, and I must prepare for them- this is priority to writing fanfiction (unfortunately), but hopefully ill be able to continue this at home – especially if I get more reviews (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). The next chapter has already been written by the way (im trying to decrease the size before uploading)- but im unhappy with it- be patient. Thanks again ~V~ 


	4. Quests

Rewriting chapters at the moment. It seems if I don't like one thing, then I end up scrapping the whole lot and starting again. Big hello to Angie, Carlo and the kids. A big congrats to my 4 mates in BH that have just had their first children each. Jonno & Kate (Ella-Page) and Sul & Renea (Conner) – mustve been something in the water eh? Oh and always, thanks to Volundrung and Creeper. Last but not least, to anyone that's nice enough to review; Thanks for reading. ~V~  
  
CHPT 4: Quests  
  
Bendar lifted his goblet and drained the last of his wine. His small companion sat with his head down, idly playing with the stem of a Gold Kanet flower. As if sensing he was being watched the young thief lifted his eyes and looked at the huge Nord.  
  
"I wonder what they're going to do?"  
  
"Probably go on a hunt. That assassin looked determined, and the rest obviously think that Kirathe is linked to all this mess." Replied the large Nord, shrugging. Secretly, Bendar disliked anything to do with magic, he preferred an enemy with weapons he can see and counter. Magic was something Bendar could live without.  
  
The objects of their discussion could be heard deep in conversation in the next room. Kirathe and Navireth along with the Mages Guildmaster and a few high ranking members we're discussing the next course of action.  
  
The assassin's voice, however, could easily be heard over the top of everyone else's.  
  
Kirathe had been taken by the guildmaster and his accomplices and questioned about the vision he received when touching the blade. They had since been tight-lipped about their conclusions when they received his answers.  
  
The meeting had been noisily interrupted when Navireth had stormed back into the guildhouse, taken her weapons along with her dead brothers, then abruptly confronted the guild leaders and demanded answers to finding this daedric wizard and his 'cult'.  
  
When Hlaalu guards had come to remove the boisterous and clearly dangerous assassin, then had summarily been sent away by the frail looking Mages Guildmaster.  
  
At this point the five other survivors were curious to discover how Kirathe and his moving rune tattoo was connected to the daedric warrior who destroyed the lucky lockup, and what they should do about it. Was it an attack meant for Kirathe that they unfortunately became involved with? They were also extremely curious about Kirathe's vision and the assassin's dead partner.  
  
Any answers to these questions were withheld from the group, they were not yet allowed to leave town, and the patience of many of them was running out.  
  
Bendar and Zaareth watched as the Hlaalu guard returned to his station, but the guard always kept a doubtful eye on the entrance to the room where he was evicted.  
  
"You wish for revenge young one?" Asked the old Guildmaster, addressing the assassin. Navireth had become curious once the old man had sent away the guards that had come to remove her. She found her patient and coldly calculating personality reasserting itself.  
  
"Yes, old man. My Morag Tong partner was my younger brother. "  
  
This received a raised eyebrow from Kirathe,yet he said nothing as she continued, "The Assassins guild frowns upon non-legal murder, but personal acts of revenge, especially those concerning other guild members are accepted, even encouraged."  
  
"We have a proposition then."  
  
Navireth paused.  
  
"Go on." She replied carefully.  
  
"You obviously think that your brother's murderer will once again try and attack Kirathe here, so you want him as bait."  
  
Kirathe frowned and looked at Navireth sharply, he still said nothing, yet Navireth ignored him. It was indeed exactly what she wanted.  
  
Another robed altmer stepped forward holding an unrolled parchment, "If I may Grandmaster?" The old man nodded his agreement so the altmer mage continued, "Your reports indicate that the daedric wearing figure's last word was simply...'Soon.' It was directed at the dunmer male known as Kirathe. This would seem to indicate that it is indeed his intention to find this dunmer once again.  
  
The Grandmaster smiled at his accomplice's sharp mind; the reading was quite obvious yet it reasserted the fact in the assassin's mind that she would benefit from a partnership with Kirathe.  
  
"You see Assassin? Your revenge might be fulfilled, but our proposition is thus, if you wish Kirathe for bait, then you must vow to your god you will protect him. Kirathe may be about to start a series of events that could affect us all. It is obvious that some evil wishes him dead, as seen in the destruction and murder in this town's tavern, so we must do what we can to prevent him from dieing."  
  
Kirathe looked open mouthed at the old mage, "About to start what series of events? This is something to do with my vision then?"  
  
"Yes, and your runes." Replied the old man.  
  
"Is this some kind of prophecy?" asked Navireth.  
  
"There is nothing we can find in any record in any of the mages guilds on Morrowind to indicate so" replied the altmer with the parchment.  
  
The grandmaster nodded his agreement, "But just because we can't find one doesn't mean there isn't one. We have requested help from guilds on the mainland, but quite simply; inexplicable tattoos that have been on you for all your life, don't move. Now when these tattoos are runes, and you just happen to receive visions after touching the sword of someone who tried to destroy an entire building filled with people, we like to make sure that we prepare ourselves for something big."  
  
"That makes sense." Replied Kirathe bleakly.  
  
"Further than that," continued the grandmaster, "if it just so happens that such a diverse range of people happen to come together and survive such an ordeal, it make sense that a prophecy would include them, which also means you, assassin."  
  
"I'm not protecting an entire group of people old man, and the Morag Tong work better by themselves. If you want me to protect this tattooed fool, fine! Just don't expect that I can be bought to babysit the others!"  
  
"As we have no direction, might I ask where you will take Kirathe?"  
  
"He will follow me to the Nest of the Morag Tong; our motherhouse, and before you ask, I'm not going to tell you. I have to report a guild-members death and explain the circumstances. After that we will go hunting. I'm assuming that long before then we'll meet out daedric friend again."  
  
"Capital idea!"  
  
"What?" both Kirathe and Navireth said in unison.  
  
"Grandmaster?" queried the altmer mage immediately after.  
  
The old grandmaster held up his hands, "Let me explain, I never wanted you to er... babysit the group of people over there. I simply stated that if this is some kind of prophecy then when its time, all of you will be involved. Ill think of something for the others to do, but right now, you two should toddle off to your motherhouse and protect each other."  
  
"Toddle?!" Navireth said sharply.  
  
"You had better prepare yourself. Your enemy is strong in the arcane as well as having what seems to be a fanatic cult in its arsenal. Who knows how powerful our enemy is. Prepare yourselves for the worst."  
  
Kirathe and Navireth quickly looked at each other. Navireth then quickly drew her brother's dai-katana and spun it in a tight arc around her hand. The others watched her, and all except the Mages Grandmaster looked slightly worried or frightened.  
  
The assassin turned the blade in her hand. The light from nearby candles reflected off the blade and run down the length as she turned it. Kirathe couldn't help but admire it.  
  
Suddenly the assassin took the scabbard and sheathed the sword, then shoved the handle into Kirathe's stomach forcing him to grab it. The assassin turned and moved her face inches from Kirathe's, still holding the handle of the dai-katana.  
  
"This blade was my brother's." Her voice came out in a harsh whisper and her breath tickled Kirathe's lips, and he felt excitement as well as fear as she continued, "It is of the Morag Tong. When we meet my brother's murderers, you will leave the daedric figure for me. Until then you will use and respect this blade. Now say your goodbyes, we leave immediately."  
  
The assassin then turned and left the room. As she passed the four other survivors she turned and looked at each one, studying them.  
  
They all looked back apprehensively except for the large Nord whose look was of strength and defiance. Attributes she admired. If she must endure this group as the old man had foretold, then she would lead it. Until that time she would take this Kirathe and find her brother's murderer.  
  
As the thought of her brother crossed her mind, she felt guilt at having borrowed his blade to a stranger. Then she realised that the reason she did it was because she was also curious of his moving runes. She refused to admit the truth; that she saw the same look of strength and fire in his blood red eyes that her brother's had held.  
  
--------------------  
  
Inside, Kirathe had come out of the separate room and moved to the tables with the four other survivors. Sarynia jumped up as she neared and came to him.  
  
"Are you alright? How is your back?"  
  
"I'm fine, and these things haven't moved again."  
  
Luien, the former bartender of the Lucky Lockup, pointed to the dai-katana that Kirathe carried, "She gave you her partner's blade?" He asked incredulously.  
  
The others looked at the blade in his hands.  
  
"He was her younger brother apparently."  
  
At that Sarynia gasped while Luien shook his head. Bendar and Zaareth nodded to them selves in understanding.  
  
Kirathe continued, "It seems I have to go on a trip. I think we'll all be meeting up again soon, I have to go with Navireth and find the daedric figure, we're going to the Morag Tong motherhouse or something first."  
  
"Be careful lad." Said Luien, "Assassins are assassins, even if they belong to a guild. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"  
  
"No, not at all, but I need to find this guy again. I can't explain it. Maybe I will be able to once I meet him? Ill tell you when we meet up again."  
  
"When we meet up again?" Bendar said slightly amused.  
  
At that moment Navireth appeared from around the corner.  
  
"We leave NOW, Kirathe. Let's go."  
  
Once more the assassin vanished around the corner. Kirathe turned and followed, just before moving around the corner and out of sight he looked back over his shoulder at the group. Then he was gone.  
  
The stunned group turned and faced each other. It was the Nord who broke the silence.  
  
"When we meet up again?" The Nord repeated.  
  
"Why is he with her?" Sarynia asked loudly.  
  
"Because he must," replied the Grandmaster from behind them, "and yes Nord, when you meet up again."  
  
"What do you mean old man?" Zaareth chirped in.  
  
The Grandmaster looked around at all the people surrounding him.  
  
"I have a quest for you all."  
  
--------------------------------  
  
~Authors Note~  
  
Stay tuned, ive got a lot of ideas running around my head and ill need to get them out fast. New chapter soon!  
  
Don't forget to read and review!!  
  
~V~ 


	5. Highway

Sorry this has taken such a long time, I've been extremely busy at work and haven't had time to do much else. Oh, and a certain friend of mine got me back into Diablo2 on the weekends- you know who you are. I was reminded I have been neglecting this story from Rumpelteasza's review. That's very much Rump's- such a nice review gave me cause to continue again. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. V  
  
CHPT 5: Highway  
  
Kirathe closed his eyes and concentrated. Amongst the noise of the rain and night creatures he heard his enemy. If he were quick enough, surely he would be able to finally claim the life of his incessant foe that had been repeatedly attacking him off and on for hours.  
  
Kirathe moved his hand with as much speed as he could muster and slapped his neck. His terrible opponent had escaped again; the pesky mosquito buzzed away, very much alive, and ready to attack him again soon no doubt.  
  
Kirathe frowned and rolled over in his great cloak. He was hungry, cold, wet and miserable. After leaving Balmora with the assassin, they had travelled for days in the terrible weather of the Bitter Coast.  
  
After receiving very little conversation from his accomplice, Kirathe had fallen into a subdued melancholy and simply continued on in relative silence, following the assassin, and completing instructions whenever she barked out orders.  
  
Kirathe realised whatever minimal sleep he hoped to achieve from a night spent in bug infested swamp lands was now out of the question. He sat up in his cloak, tried to peel his sodden shirt away from his chest and looked menacingly up at Navireth, who was currently sitting on top of a log leaning against a nearby tree stump. Her hair was being whipped around her face by the swampland breeze, but she seemed to ignore the biting cold at whim. Navireth smirked at Kirathe's obvious discomfort and ignored his accusing stare.  
  
"Morning sunshine!" she pronounced jovially.  
  
"It's neither morning nor is their any hope of seeing the sun."  
  
Navireth's grin grew larger, "Well, Princess, its as bright as its gonna get today, so let's move out and get some blood pumping into those delicate hands."  
  
Kirathe stumbled to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to brush the mud from his arms and legs.  
  
Still smiling Navireth spoke up loudly, "But first a lesson!"  
  
Kirathe had time to look up from brushing himself down, before a fist connected with his jaw and sent him falling to the ground and the mud. Kirathe rolled to a stopped, pushed himself to his knees and looked up. Caught halfway between anger and astonishment he blinked the dirty water out of his eyes as it ran down his now very muddy face.  
  
Navireth calmly walked over and squatted near him. Her expression was again cold, "I told you that blade was my brothers. I told you to respect it." She paused briefly and looked away, then slowly turned and studied the sodden dunmer. She whispered menacingly, "Next time you decide to sleep in the mud, make sure the sword isn't with you!"  
  
She stood back up and walked towards the log she had spent the night sleeping against. She bent over and retrieved the sword from the top of the log, which she had taken during the night and safely placed out of the mud.  
  
In the meantime Kirathe had stumbled to his feet and brushed what little mud and debris from his clothes that he could. He angrily resigned himself to spending the day walking in dirty uncomfortable clothes. Kirathe's jaw ached and he repeatedly flexed it in the hopes to ease the pain. He felt a slight painful pop each time he opened his mouth.  
  
When Kirathe reached out to take the offered sword he thought he saw a slight grin on his tormentors face. As Kirathe moved to take the blade he moved his hand to the handle, and then at the last instant quickly grabbed Navireth's wrist. As quick as he could he moved and grabbed her elbow with his other hand. In that instant Navireth knew what he was going to do, but by that time she was too late.  
  
Kirathe fell backwards into the mud holding onto the assassin. Using weight instead of skill he pulled her down with him, twisting his body so she would land face first on the ground. Navireth dropped her brother's sword and growled. As they fell she stuck her other arm out to break the impact, but the surprise attack had done its job.  
  
As Kirathe once more lay in the thick sloppy mud he smiled as the assassin who lay next to him lifted her head. Navireth had landed on her stomach so everything except her back and head was now as equally dirty as Kirathes.  
  
No one spoke a word in the next few moments as they lay in the mud looking at each other. Suddenly the assassin spun her body in the mud, kicking her leg out and catching Kirathe on his shoulder with her boot. Kirathe yelped in pain, but quickly turned and crawled towards Navireth. In the mud his progress was slow, but Navireth's back was turned from spinning her body. She looked over her shoulder and saw the dunmer was making his advance.  
  
As she once more spun in the mud to face him, Kirathe lunged and tackled the assassin, again pushing her to the mud, this time she landed on her back. The assassin slammed her knee upwards into Kirathe's groin and felt Kirathe's grip tighten and heard the wind quickly whoosh from his mouth from pain. Still on her back, she then grabbed his clothes around his chest and kicked upwards, sending the dunmer flying over her head to crash to the ground behind her.  
  
Knowing that Kirathe would be unable to move from the assault, but dirty and angry she rushed towards her prey. Kirathe was lying on her back, groaning loudly and rocking in agony, but Navireth simply jumped on top of him, straddled his waist and started to rain hard punches into his face.  
  
Through the fog of pain, Kirathe had instinctively raised his hands to his face to protect himself, but enough of the assassin's punches connected that he started feeling the warm embrace of unconsciousness.  
  
It started to rain harder, but neither of them noticed. Kirathe's nose and mouth had begun to bleed yet still Navireth continued to rain blows down on the hapless dunmer. Her pent up rage and emotion from the loss of her brother had surfaced and without realising it she had begun to cry as she hit him.  
  
Kirathe struggled to stay coherent. The weight of the assassin prevented him from moving and the constant punching drained what little strength he possessed. He tried to yell, but the resulting noise sounded like a meek mumble. At last the blows began to weaken as Navireth started to tire. At this stage Kirathe had no idea how long she had been hitting them, it seemed like hours and mere moments at the same time. Kirathe relaxed his body while his mind passed into a hot grey void.  
  
Through the numb red of her venting rage Navireth realised what she was doing. She stopped mid-swing and looked at the groaning dunmer beneath her.  
  
Navireth continued to sob as her hands fell to her side. Rain mixed with the stream of crimson running from Kirathe's face. His eyes were closed and head lolled to one side as he quietly groaned and coughed.  
  
Navireth brought her hands to her face and cried into them, oblivious to Kirathe's blood on her hands.  
  
It started to rain harder as the two sat dirty and muddy; the slightly smaller assassin atop the battered dunmer.  
  
Navireth gained control of her emotions and looked down at him. The Dunmer was breathing slowly with his eyes still closed, a thin trickle of blood still seeping from cuts on his mouth. She felt slightly guilty at battering him as bad as she had, but also a lot better for having released her pent up anger.  
  
She sighed and moved her hand to brush some hair that had fallen in Kirathe's eyes when she heard movement behind her, she turned her head in time to see a horribly disfigured Argonian leap out of the surrounding undergrowth and crash tackle her to the ground.  
  
The Argonian had growled when it attacked, but the growl had gurgled from its throat, as though it was underwater. When it sat atop her, Navireth saw why. The Argonian seemed to be melting. One eye was missing and half of its cheek had been ripped away. Rips were protruding from its chest while its skin and scales were slimy and rotten. There was a deep dark red gash in its throat where slime and hot sickly wind was escaping. A sound not unlike laughter issued from the thing as it grinned into the assassin's face.  
  
The assassin gagged as she caught the putrid sweet smell of decay from the thing's breath and she caught the smell again when she tried to push it off her and her hand punctured through it's rotting chest. When she pulled her hand free it sprayed black and badly smelling chunks of flesh and coagulated gore onto her self.  
  
The strength behind this obviously reanimated corpse was surprising, but Navireth had little time for contemplation as the horrific thing bit down onto her collar. She felt the sharp teeth rip through her skin and snap her collarbone as the groaning monster continued its attack.  
  
Suddenly the weight of the thing was removed as the dead Argonian was lifted from her body and tossed to the ground next to her. Navireth opened her eyes to see Kirathe advance upon the Argonian. The dead creature looked up from the ground and gurgled; the noise an awful approximation of a hiss. Without breaking stride Kirathe severed its head with a wide slash from the Dai-katana. The thing fell motionless to the ground.  
  
Kirathe turned and faced the assassin. She was still lying on the ground, holding her bleeding collar when Kirathe walked towards her and pointed the sword at her face, its tip before her face close enough so the decaying blood from the Argonian dripped from the end and landed on her chin.  
  
After a few moments Navireth looked up into Kirathe's face. He stood impassive holding the sword. His face still bled slowly and his left eye had swollen shut. His mouth was slightly frowning and his good eye bored into hers. The rain continued to fall down his face removing more mud and blood.  
  
Navireth's expression turned emotionless; a mirror of Kirathe. Her mind quietly raced to find a solution to this problem, though none presented itself. Just as she was about to attempt to roll to her right as quick as possible, broken shoulder or otherwise, Kirathe pulled the sword away and stepped back a pace.  
  
Kirathe cleaned the sword on his shirt as much as possible it then sheathed it. He paused briefly and then reached down and offered a hand to Navireth.  
  
"Let's move on Assassin."  
  
------------------  
  
When the gangplank was firmly secured and the passengers began to disembark an agile but strangely off colour Bosmer jumped from the small ship onto the docks. He then emptied the meagre contents of his stomach into the water, to the annoyance of the merchants working around him and the amusement of his friends disembarking behind him.  
  
Bendar laughed loudly, in part due to his friend's seasickness and part due to good humour at returning to his homeland.  
  
Solstheim would always hold a special place for the huge Nord, and he had been anxious and excited in the closing hours of the trip across the channel from Morrowind.  
  
"Come Zaareth, we get provisions for a short journey, then I'll take you to Thirsk, for the best medicine for seasickness you will ever fine!"  
  
Zaareth looked up apprehensively at his friend with a fearful question in his eyes. His friends responded with a slap on the back, "Mead!" Bendar boomed and then laughed again.  
  
Zaareth turned a slightly darker shade of green and stifled another eruption from his stomach. He slowly got to his feet and shook his head at the back of his huge friend. Bendar had turned to greet their companions who had disembarked and were slowly gathering the small amount of possessions then had brought with them.  
  
"Brrrrrrr! It's cold!" Exclaimed Sarynia as she jumped up and down in an attempt to stay warm.  
  
Luien, former barkeep and now suddenly unwilling adventurer dropped a leather travel pack at the centre of the circle of friends and began to open it. "Well, you're lucky someone had prepared for this miserable place at least!" he puffed through exertion. Luien reached into the bag and rummaged around, retrieving a small and thin white overcoat. He pulled the thin garment out and handed it to the shivering mage.  
  
"What's this Lui?"  
  
"Something to keep you warm."  
  
Sarynia lifted the thin garment and looked at it incredulously, "It's paper thin! Hows is this supposed...." She trailed off, suddenly aware of a faint blue glow to the garment, and recognising the signs of a subtle enchantment woven into the garment. "Its enchanted... a resist frost then I'm assuming?"  
  
As Luien finished buckling the travel bag, Sarynia adorned the long coat. It covered her arms and came with a hood to protect the head. It came with no means of fastening at the front, but was long enough to reach to her calves and hence she was able to wrap the garment around herself. She smiled at the group of friends that was curiously looking at her, feeling the immediate lack of cold as though she was sitting in front of a warm fire.  
  
She softly groaned in appreciation, "Lui, you're a Saint!"  
  
Luien then looked at the Nord and the Bosmer. "We'll just have to make do with what we have. The bosmer shrugged, unabashed. He was dressed in hard leather with a heavy fabric tunic and gloves with a fur-lined cap. The huge Nord however, had remained in his pants and vest, arms bare and completely oblivious to the freezing wind.  
  
Luien looked at Bendar and shook his head, "Nords..." he smirked.  
  
Bendar stretched and scratched his shoulder. His heritage prevented him from feeling the cold, and the well being that came from returning to his snow-covered lands coupled with the clean crisp fresh winds from off the Solstheim mountains made him anxious to begin.  
  
"Shall we travel to Thirsk first?" the Nord asked hopefully, thinking off the famous Tavern.  
  
"No, first we'll give our papers to the Commander of the Frostmoth Garrison and visit the temple shrine." Replied Sarynia.  
  
"We don't want to be stopped on every leg of this trip because some meathead Imperial bully has nothing better to do than stop every traveller he comes across using the weak excuse of possible tomb raiders or bandits." Luien chimed in sourly.  
  
Zaareth agreed with a sly grin at the former barkeep and cracked his knuckles, a habit he picked up when anxious. "A small donation to the temples shrine might grease the politics of this place as well. A few healing scrolls or minor spells might be useful if we do run into any trouble, and some loose coins might gain us the favour of this lot."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Sarynia.  
  
Luien looked at the small Bosmer thief, then back to Sarynia. "Let's just say that this place is so far away from normal society to not follow all the rules of trade of normal civilised society."  
  
Bendar laughed and hefted his axe again to test the edge with his thumb, "He means this place has been known to be more corrupt than a Khaajit's dice game."  
  
In one fluid movement the huge Nord spun his axe and sheathed it in the gigantic leather pouch strapped to his back. The effect was impressive and came from years of practice. Sarynia grinned and stepped forward, slapping the Nord playfully on his arm.  
  
"Well, lets go befriend these officials with coin or with scary axe handling then!"  
  
Bendar grinned while the young Bosmer spoke just loud enough to be heard, "Let's see if they have something for seasickness as well."  
  
Luien shook his head, whilst the Nord laughed loudly. The unusual quartet strolled towards the towering stone gateway of Frostmoth Fort.  
  
After they had disappeared inside a lone figure seemingly intent on fixing nets stood up and brushed its pants of any dust it had accumulated whilst squatting on the docks. It kicked the old net aside and looked at the entrance to the fort. Covered in a dirty full-length oilskin merchant cloak, the figure looked out from under the voluminous hood. As it looked on, it sighed and placed its hands on its hips.  
  
After a moment it activated a highly powerful chameleon amulet, and all but disappeared from view. The only visible part of the figure was its shadow as it hurried towards the stone keep. 


End file.
